


The Watsons Law

by morganasmyths



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, MENTIONS OF DRINKING DRUGS AND SEX, Protective John, ceo!john, its mentioned once but if it triggers you pls be careful, kinda shy sherlock, nothing explicit but just so you know, trophyhusband!sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 23:24:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10887069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganasmyths/pseuds/morganasmyths
Summary: Dr John Watson and his husband, Sherlock Watson, are hosting one of their ever famour parties. Dr Watson becomes protective as a certain man comes a little too close to his husband.





	The Watsons Law

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I'd try my hand at this prompt (from tumblr) - I've been messing around with writing styles and kinda like this perspective (outside but relevant to the story). 
> 
> Party is based off that one in "Clique", where Alistair says how his late wife loved all the scandalous things that happened at parties. I absolutely loved that opinion and thought to put it in here (all credit to the writers of Clique ofc).

Dr John Watson had always been extremely protective of his husband. His co-workers were lucky if they even saw the man - he usually stayed far away from Dr Watson’s work in the City. 

However, there was one time when it was possible to get so close as to even talk to Dr Watson’s husband, and that was at one of his parties. 

Dr Watson called them “corporate events” but everyone knew they were parties at heart. There was drinking, drugs, sex in random rooms - all sorts of scandal and controversy, but despite owning the entire venue (and the people in it), the Watsons never attempted to clean up the behaviour at their parties. 

It was quite the opposite really - see they almost encouraged it. Dr Watson’s husband had come from a rather public school background, and was very much used to this kind of thing but much more discreet (as is the way there). He relished in controversial behaviour and it delighted him to see it happen shamelessly at his parties, a delight which Dr Watson wanted nothing more than to kindle. 

Sherlock Watson did have a remarkably charming smile, you know. 

There may be little in the way of rules, but there was one absolute law which was never broken: Nobody flirts with Sherlock Watson. 

The boundaries had been tested long ago, and chatting was deemed fine, but anything near buying him a drink was seen as suspicious and the last unfortunate sod who had tried had left with every bone in his left arm broken (the arm which had suggestively played with Sherlock’s hair, which Sherlock had not been happy about). 

The party this evening was a large one, around three hundred people. To be honest, the smallest parties hosted by the Watsons got was around one hundred people, but that didn’t change the scale of the preparations needing to be done. 

That’s where I come in - I being a Fly in Watson’s Web. We call ourselves Flies because we’re all just tangled up in this colossal company he’s created. The man’s a genius - he built it from nothing. 

But the parties required legwork and effort which wasn’t something that Dr Watson was particularly inclined to do given his standing. So the Flies prepare the venue, the decorations, the food, the drinks, the theme, the costs, who we have to bribe to make it happen, and most importantly - the guest list. 

Invitations were of paramount importance. The Watsons’ events were exclusive to the max - if they didn’t personally know or work with a person then they were not getting through the entrance doors. Every member was examined on their way in: bags checked, coats taken, invitations scrutinised. 

The parties never fully began until the Watsons enter themselves. In the meantime, everyone had a glass of champagne and anxiously awaited their arrival. There were posters and flyers around the whole venue of the cause (a new retail launch) and the tables were decked out with information booklets between the wine bottles and platters of canapés. 

So, welcome to the meantime. All the Flies were present, you had to be. It didn’t matter if someone died - if you worked for Dr Watson, you were at his parties. We were decked out in expensive suits and shiny shoes and a crystal glass of champagne and a smile. We were making small talk with friends and clients, a sort of forced interaction whilst we all waited for what we were really here for. 

The lights were dimmed and chandeliers were lit, hanging gracefully above the company and scattering droplets of light across the room. At one end of the room were great dark wood doors through which all the guests had come. They were currently closed to prevent the cold air from outside coming in. The doors creaked and reluctantly swung open, the doormen slowly easing them wide enough for two individuals to enter. 

The Watsons waltzed into the party, Dr Watson casting a glance around the room and Sherlock on his phone. One particular Fly, a woman recently hired into Watson’s Web, stared at Sherlock just a little too long as he and his husband made their way across the room through the chatting guests. Dr Watson gave her a black look filled with enough threat and hatred to make her hide behind a pillar. 

He turned to look at Sherlock as the approached the opposite end of the room, who smiled back at him and tucked his phone away. Dr Watson slipped an arm around Sherlock’s waist and led them sideways to a staircase. The venue had two floors – a ground floor where the party was, and a first floor that was mostly a balcony overlooking the party. Rooms led off deeper into the building, but the balcony itself consisted of marble railings and was held up by pillars. 

Silence fell across the present members of the company as the Watsons walked to the edge of the balcony until Dr Watson rested his hands on the marble in front of them. Sherlock stood behind him, hands clasped behind his back and a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Bathed in the soft golden glow of the chandeliers he looked quite divine. 

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Dr Watson annoucned. “Welcome to the launch of our new retail investment. I am proud to announce that the company’s recent work has allowed this investment to take place and this event to happen. My colleagues will offer information if needed, and please help yourself to booklets and flyers. And please,” he added with a smile. “Have fun.” 

And have fun we did. We had to stay formal for about two hours, from nine o’clock to eleven when clients and guests would be genuinely interested in what the event and investments were about, however after this time frame all the guests of the party had had too much of everything and people were less interested in the investment and more interested in the other aspects of the event. The food began disappearing quicker, but more was brought out so that the platters never ran empty. There wasn’t a dry glass or a sober person in the entire hall and many people had gone missing over the course of the night. 

I and a couple other Flies had a technique to events. We made polite conversation for as long as needed, then chose a particular corner – usually rather close to the canapés – and got absolutely plastered so as not to disgrace the company by accidentally insulting a client or drunkenly making a fool of ourselves. When we retired to this corner, nobody ever really came looking for us or asking about anything, so we were pretty much home dry. 

Well, we were home dry metaphorically. 

This night we had chosen the balcony as our hideaway corner and one of my favourite Flies, a girl called Nelly, had just returned with two bottles of wine for the four of us. From here we had a rather spectacular view of the whole party, our hard work, and how well it was going. All the guests we enjoying themselves, and even Dr Watson was smiling – as in genuinely smiling. The man was a master at emotions. Lord knows where he learned all these things, and how to use them to his advantage. 

Dr Watson was standing in the centre of the room, glass of champagne in one hand and talking animatedly with a client. The two were getting on remarkably well, as is usually the way with wealthy clients. His husband was across the room, leaning against a pillar and chatting to a man who I didn’t recognise. He wasn’t a client, and therefore must be a guest, some kind of family friend. 

He seemed incredibly interested in Sherlock, and for a moment I felt sorry for the man. But anyone at this party knew that Sherlock is taken; he deserved everything he was about to get for attempting to cheat. 

“Oi, check this,” I mumbled, almost incoherently, to the others. “Someone’s tryna chat up Sherlock.” I gestured vaguely in the direction of the man. 

The others giggled and snorted and scrambled over to see for themselves. 

“Poor sod,” Nelly chucked. “He has no idea what’s coming.” 

“I wanna watch,” Jason laughed, we all murmured an agreement and settled down to wait until Dr Watson realised what was going on. We were making our way steadily through the wine, each taking a swig and then passing it on. Perhaps it was mean, or a little ethically questionable to have this attitude, however we had seen this same thing happen many a time and over time we became less shocked by it. The whole party was one massive controversy – we had learned to get used to this kind of thing very quickly. 

Sherlock was beginning to look uncomfortable. The man was pressing closer and Sherlock was slowly moving backwards until he hit a pillar. Due to the sheer number of people here there was no way around it, he was effectively trapped. His gaze flickered over the crowd until they settled on Dr Watson, but he wasn’t looking that way, he was still listening to the client. 

The man approached closer to Sherlock still, offering him his drink which Sherlock steadfastly declined. He put the drink on the tray of a passing waiter and pressed into Sherlock until their bodies were flush with one another. Sherlock put his hands between them so as to wrestle him off and moved his face away. The man was clearly smashed and simply followed his face with his own. 

Eventually he reached a hand up to Sherlock’s head and began twirling a few strands of his hair around his finger. Sherlock pushed his off with a harsh shove but the man simply stumbled backwards for a moment before approaching again. 

“Check it,” Nelly whispered, nudging my arm. “Dr Watson’s caught on.” 

It was true. I turned my gaze to look at Dr Watson who was facing the client but his gaze was fixed on Sherlock. He had clearly seen the recent events and his hands began trembling. The champagne sloshed over the edge of the glass as he thrust it towards a waiter and turned to walk towards the pillar with rage burning in his eyes. His entire upper body was tense and as he walked the people around him stopped talking and giggling and parted. His fists clenched and unclenched. The man hadn’t realised. 

He pushed himself back onto Sherlock and reached up another hand to his hair. Sherlock cringed away from the touching and opened his mouth to call out when there was a crack and the man’s head hit the floor with a satisfying thud. John withdrew his fist from midair and shook out the knuckles. 

He murmured something to a couple guards who had run over at the commotion and they seized the man by the arms and dragged him out of the hall, face streaked with blood. Immediately, Dr Watson turned to Sherlock and snaked an arm around his waist, eyes meeting his as he checked that his husband was okay. 

Sherlock nodded and leaned forward to whisper something in Dr Watson’s ear. Dr Watson nodded and turned back to face the guests in the hall. He apologised for the turmoil and wished everyone to continue with their night. With that the Watsons linked arms and left, and the party continued. 

We turned away from the balcony and leaned against it, bottles of wine long since drunk. We all agreed that had been quite a good one. Nelly was sure he would get his fingers broken by those guards, but Jason thought it would be his arm. We were waiting for someone to actually kiss Sherlock so we could see how furious Dr Watson got then, and how many bones they would leave with unharmed. 

And that was the absolute rule – nobody flirts with Sherlock Watson. John Watson and his husband left the party that night and returned in a cab to their house in the upper end of town. Sherlock leaned against John the whole ride home, face buried in his neck and John’s arm around his waist. He held him firmly close, protectively, and whispered sweet nothings into the ear behind his curls. 

This was the John Watson nobody saw. The Flies, the Clients and the Guests all saw a smart business man, proper and well-spoken. But Sherlock was special. Sherlock saw the living, breathing, feeling human that John Watson was beneath his professional persona, and both thoroughly loved the other.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I might make this into a longer, proper fic if people want that but idk maybe


End file.
